A Doll's Daughter
by Holo Flora
Summary: A Doll's House. Nora contacts her daughter for the first time in a decade. Wrote this for my Literature class. From Emmy's POV.


"**God enjoins you to treat women well, for they are your mothers, daughters, aunts"**

**Muhammad**

_Dearest Emily_,

_I do not know if you even remember me, you were so young and so carefree when last I saw you. It seems preposterous to even think of explaining things to you in a letter, which is why I will not try. _

_I have found, through some roundabout sources, that you are married with a young daughter. I congratulate you. It is sad to me that I was not able to be there for you when you were expecting, and after, as I know how trying those times can be. Not to say that you were trying, because that was not the case. Every day of your childhood was a precious gift I wish I might have been a part of longer._

_Dearest daughter, any apology I might offer would be of little value, I am sure, but I venture to offer it at any rate. I would love you see you, and your brothers as well, if they might be persuaded. I invite you to visit me at my present home, a small boarding house owned by one Ms. Baker. She is a dear soul, and I know she would not protest to you visiting, or perhaps even staying in my room for a few days._

_Of course, this is all up to you._

_Sincerely, your forever mother,_

_Nora _

I sighed, shifting my weight on the snugly upholstered sofa in Ms. Baker's drawing room. It was without much character, with so many women living there, it lacked the warmth that one woman could give it. I could hear, but not see the large grandfather clock behind me, ticking by the seconds, daring me to turn around and watch the hands move. I longed for my own home, with husband and child, and a living room decorated with a loving hand.

Marina is my daughter and only child. She looks just like her father, and shares his passive temperament as well. My sofa and chairs are covered in the pillows she has embroidered. Our house seems completely decorated in pale cotton and loose threads. I know I spoil her, but she is my one and only, and the doctors tell me that will always be the case.

Ivar and Bob wouldn't come with me. Bobby was resentful and Ivar just didn't see the point.

"She obviously wrote to you and just added us in as an afterthought" he'd said softly, laying the letter aside and reaching for his hat and coat. "She doesn't want to be a part of our lives; she just doesn't want her only daughter to hate her."

I don't think I really ever understood why mother left. It wasn't Father who told us, but Anne. I remember the sad, worn look on her face. There was something in her voice that hinted that she might have told this sort of news before. I know now that this was her second set of motherless children to take care of. After she died I placed a white flower on her coffin and thought of how much of her life had been given to my mother as a child, and then the rest was spent up on us. For the first time I felt guilty about my mother's absence, as though I had somehow caused it or that, if I couldn't have prevented it, at least I might have been less of a burden on dear Anne.

I was asleep when my mother left, but Bobby was not. He had gotten up from bed that night, eager to play with the toys Anne had demanded he put away before going to sleep. He told me he heard our father speaking loudly, so he'd stood at the top of the stairs, hoping to hear more, but there was no more to hear. There was only the gentle murmur of voices, gently peaking here and there, but not where he could hear them, so he went back to bed.

Anne was still in her night things when father talked to her in the morning. They were right outside my door, talking in the kind of whispers adults only use when they're trying to keep children from hearing. When the conversation had stopped, I scurried back under my covers, and did my best to seem asleep. Anne stood in my doorway for quite some time and I could feel her looking at me, but she did not come inside to talk. She sighed and closed the door. We did not find out until that afternoon.

My mother's absence was barely endurable. We missed her playing with us, her kissing our bumps and scratches better, hearing her voice humming some tune as she dressed before breakfast, and the way she had about smoothing out our mistakes to make it seem like they could happen to anyone. We loved her so, and were struck by her absence harder than if it had been our father, though we might have been on the street were it not for his care.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting" I heard a gentle voice say. Looking up from my shoes (which I had been studying intently for the past few minutes), I saw a woman whom I would not have thought to be my mother if I had not know it was true.

Her hair was graying a tied in a knot at the top of her head. There were deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her clothes were simple and worn, like she couldn't afford anything more.

"I make a basic living" she explained to me as we talked "mending here and there…I'm also a part time secretary for an up and coming lawyer firm, Breakstone and Kreutzer, perhaps you've heard of them…?" I hadn't.

The awkward, emptiness of the conversations overpowered me. Here was this woman, looking as worn as her old dress, but seemingly pleasant and happy, chatting about her life at the boarding house, and asking me all about mine. I did my best to tell all about Harold and Marina, and she listened with a sad sort of smile.

As we got deeper into conversation, the more questions nagged at the back of my mind. I yearned to ask of that night after the ball, and her reasoning. Had she really left us and father, left her beautiful home and possessions, to live in a boarding house doing odds and ends, barely enough money to keep clothes on her back?

"The ladies here are so kind to me" she took a sip of the tea elderly and stern looking Mrs. Baker had brought out for us. She looked into the cup for sometime, and the silence swirled around us like the cream she'd just added.

"I…was wondering…" the words caught in my throat as she looked up at me expectantly, "I always wondered…why did you leave?"

Her expression changed instantly. She looked twice as worn as before, and terribly saddened. I was already regretting that I had asked, but could not take it back now

"I thought you might ask that" she sighed.

"I never knew why" I explained "I guess I was too young to know, so no one ever told me"

She sighed heavily again.

"It is important that you understand, my dear, that there is a world beyond your own. That is what I did not understand." She took a sip of tea and returned the cup to the saucer a little harder than was necessary "I never wanted to leave you or your brothers, but the life I was leading kept me within the tiny world of your father's; this world which he _owned_, in which I was his _property_. I could not live in a home in which I had less say that a child, had as much power as the family pet."

"But for so many years!" I gaped at her, "Why get married? Why have children?! Didn't you love him?!" I was yelling, I knew, but I could feel an anger welling up inside me, one that I hadn't even known was there. I felt the love for my husband and child bubbling to the surface, defending marriage and commitment as a whole.

"I thought I loved him" she said calmly.

"You-you thought?"

"Emmy," she seemed to be sidestepping my question, "I will not go into detail of the night I left your father and you, but you should know that it was no for lack of love for you. What would I have accomplished by taking you with me? I had no money, and I wanted no part of your father's money, for that would have meant his control."

"I-I cannot imagine that this life might be better!" I scanned the room. It had seemed so bare and unloved, but now it seemed to be even more desolate than before.

"I have found myself, you see." She smiled at me, as though this made absolute sense. "I am myself, without a man."

I felt exhausted coming home that night. My hat barely made it to the rack, and I am sure, if it were not for the maid, my shawl would have been in a heap on the floor. I managed to get to our couch without falling over, and lay there for quite sometime, just thinking.

"I didn't hear you come in"

I blinked, my husband's face coming into focus above me. I reached out, threading my fingers through his hair and placing a small kiss on his cheek.

"Where's Mary?"

"At the Franklin's house, you know that girl she went to etiquette classes with."

I nodded. I was always happy that Marina made friends so easily, with not siblings to play with.

"Harold…" I sat up, turning to him. I was worried about bring up the subject, but it seemed important that we talk.

"How'd it go with your mother?" he asked, as though reading my mind. I stared at his face, memorizing the friendly, quizzical expression. He was so genuine, and had never once reminded me of father, so surely we would not end the same way.

"What if I was to leave you?" I asked before I could stop myself. Harold's eyes widened and he looked hurt for a few moments. I watched him watching me, searching my face for a sign on whether or not I was serious. Finally, he seemed to come to the conclusion that I was not, and a playful smile graced his lips.

"Is it because I said your new dress looked a bit snug?" he teased "because I only meant that the tailor might have gotten it wrong, not that you'd filled out anywhere."

I laughed in spite of myself, but it quickly died out. I turned away from him to gaze into the fire, thinking about all my mother had said.

"Emily" he sighed, circling around the couch to sit next to me, "What's wrong? Did she say something to you?"

"She said quite a deal to me, Harry." I looked at him sideways, with a slight smile.

"Yes, I suppose that would be the case no matter what." He chuckled, but then got thoughtful almost immediately. Both of us sat deep in thought for several minutes before Harold spoke up again.

"If you left me" he started slowly, "I would not be able to function, I think. I would wander around the house for days wondering what I did, and where you were. I would be a horrible father to Marina, because I would not be able to look at her without thinking of you, and so I would cry ever time she came into the room." He seemed content with this explanation, turning to me with a pleasant smile. "I would wither away."

I stared at him. I could tell from his face that he was certain this was exactly what would happen. There was no question in his mind that he would die without me, and I was suddenly struck with the idea. I could never leave him, I knew, because I would never be able to live knowing he was so wretched.

"My father…did not wander the rooms or cry when he saw us." I said softly.

"I know." Harold put his arm around my shoulders, and I laid my head against him.

"That's why she left him." I almost whispered. "because when she was gone, there was no emptiness in his life. He had Anne to take care of us, the maid to do the cleaning, a cook to make up food, and us…He didn't need her.."

"_I_ need _you_." Harold said defensively.

I smiled up at him. We looked into each other's eyes for a few moments. As I kissed him, I searched myself for any feeling of discontentment, and found none. For the first time sense the day my mother left, I felt whole.


End file.
